“If you are, don’t wake up,” I shout back, tugging him toward the edge of the balcony.
We dance. We drink. Dice, just a small amount. Soulidify works the room with a blend of deep house and hip-hop. Dice’s face glows, his fingers twitching at every drop and beat shift, eager to jump in.
Then he gets his shot.
He’s summoned behind the booth, where DJ Soulidify—tall, bald, with a braided beard and gold tooth—daps him up and leans into the mic.
“Party people, make some noise for a special guest tonight. Straight outta the Chi: Dyson fucking Jones! Known as DJ Dice!”
Dice steps up, thanks him, and slots his USB into the deck, nodding at the booth tech. I hold my breath.
Then he spins. Just like he was born to do it. Pouring passion into the set. Old-school remixes that send the dance pit into chaos. Hefinds me, grins mid-transition, then drops a beat so sick, I scream his name, dancing like my body’s possessed.
This isn’t Docks. It’s New York. A city that will boo your ass in seconds if you don’t come correct.
But Dice brings it. Owns it, just like I knew he would.
When his set ends, the DJ hugs him, and the crowd chants his name. He returns to the lounge, sweaty and breathless, adrenaline still pumping. I hand him water.
“That was absolute fire,” I say, excited for him. “How did it feel?”
His arm curls around me. “Insane. Like an out-of-body experience until I saw your face.”
“You killed it. Commanded the room.”
“Yeah, I did,” he says proudly. “Thanks, Web, for making this happen.”
I’m so glad I was able to give this to him. Having that client made it possible. That’s what I like about New York. Networking and opportunity.
The party stays turnt into the wee hours. Around two, we swing by the booth to thank Soulidify again, then head home. Dice is still buzzing, flying high.
I let Queenie out of her crate and kick off my boots. In the bedroom, I strip down to my thong and strapless bra. I’m tipsy, throbbing, and hot for my man.
He’s shirtless, top button of his pants undone. “You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna assume I’m gettin’ jumped.”
“You are.” I lift my mouth to his for a lusty kiss and slip away from his roaming hands.
“Where you going, baby?” he protests.
“You’ll see.” I slide open my closet door and pull out my wedge sex pillow. Plush gray velvet with a sharp incline.
“What’s that?”
“Humphrey,” I say, tossing the wedge onto the bed with a bounce.
His brows lift. “Should I be jealous?”
“Uh-uh.” I unzip the center pocket, pull out my dual-stim dildo, and slot it just right with a sheen of lube. “It’s like a throne. For mutual worship.”
I unhook my bra, tossing it aside, and wiggle out of my thong, damp with my arousal. Dice scoops my panties up, presses them to his face, and breathes in. “Your pussy’s like perfume. I just wanna roll all up in it.”
His words make me want to be hotter for him. I flick the switch to my favorite setting, climb astride the pillow, and slide slowly down the sleek wand. “Ohhh.” A moan rips out when the vibration grinds against my walls. I rock back and forth, winding my hips.
“Fuck—” Dice cups himself through his pants. “You riding that throne like a queen.”
“Mmm.” I fuck the toy, breasts bouncing for his gaze, my fingers playing with the tips, plucking my nipples. The blissful benefits of hands-free. I’m used to pleasuring myself and I’m not shy about performing. Especially when I know how much watching me turns him on. But he’s here, and I don’t want to play alone.
“Come here,” I rasp. “While Humphrey works me, I’m gonna take care of my king.”
